


On the Beneficial Properties of Absconding from Work

by Drake



Category: Deus Ex (Video Games), Deus Ex: Mankind Divided
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, past hurt now comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 13:39:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19813432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drake/pseuds/Drake
Summary: James Miller and his husband Terrence haven't taken a vacation together since their honeymoon. It's high time they change that.





	On the Beneficial Properties of Absconding from Work

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ghrelt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghrelt/gifts).



> H-H-H-HAPPY BIRTHDAY GHRELT 8)
> 
> We decided Jim deserves a happy home life so Terrence exists to give him that. I'm quite attached to him now- is this what it means to have OC's?

Jim needed to get his priorities in order. He's been trying to take his husband on vacation for years, and of course he's always been too busy. After the Incident, there wasn't a hope in hell that he could take more than an evening away, not with his new position in Prague, wrestling both corrupt state police and terrorist augs. 

And then Terrence decided to move his design firm from Los Angeles to Prague, and for the first time since they got married, the two of them lived in the same city. This was enough for the both of them. Getting to spend evenings together - whenever either one wasn't in the office late. Getting to wake up next to the love of his life. It was enough. 

It shouldn't have been. Because when Terrence came out with a fashion line sporting an Aug as his main model, the backlash took a few months to really hit. And then someone kidnapped his husband. 

Jim felt his heart stop when he heard. Then he was sent the ransom video demanding two million credits in two hours or they'd start breaking Terrence's beautiful fingers. The ones he used to create, to bring beauty to the world. The ones he held Jim's heart with. 

And then he called Macready, and they broke more than a few protocols to get him back. But not before those fucking extremists broke four of his fingers. He crashed into the room where they had Terrence chained down to a chair, holding a knife to his husband's thumb. He doesn't remember what happened next, the memory washed out in fury. 

He's glad he brought Mac. Let him take point. Because he wouldn't have left any of them alive. 

And now he knows just how close he got to losing his shining light. The reason he kept going back to work, tragedy after tragedy. To try and make the world safe for innocents like Terrence. 

So he asks. Asks if Terrence would like to take a vacation. Somewhere far from Prague and everyone else. Somewhere tropical, perhaps, one of those elite resorts for public figures that just wanted some privacy. Terrence certainly qualifies. 

And Terrence smiles, a little, subdued thing, and says yes. That smile is the very reason Jim wants to take him away from here. Away from the city and from his studio where he was taken. There was no better way to make him stop working for a bit - and forget that he cant work with four broken fingers - than to forcibly make him relax. 

It takes a week to get their things in order. Jim puts Mac on the case of who dared hurt his husband and if they're a wider organization than the small nest they took out. He doesn't even have to justify it. TF29's job was to stomp out terrorists, whether they were augs or not. Or it was supposed to be, anyway. And damned if Jim wasn't going to do his job right. 

He puts Mac in charge of the organization as a whole, too. In his absence, his agents knew to turn to Mac for orders. They trusted Mac the way he did. And if he was lucky, there wouldn't be any new emergencies in his absence. He was due for some damn luck for once. 

Terrence, for his part, stays at home and rests his fingers. Tells his staff he'll be working remotely for some time, and says no more. Justifiably wary - how anyone got the keycards to his studio to attack him in the first place is still beyond him. Jim makes an effort to come home to him before dark, does his best not to leave him alone any longer than is necessary. 

He gets the feeling both of them will be needing that for the near future. 

The next few days pass without a bombing or an attack, or even a threat, and Jim and Terrence find themselves at the airport, two suitcases packed full of everything they'd need. Extravagant, for two men who were accustomed to traveling light. Terrence has personally picked out a few outfits he terribly wants to see Jim in. And he knows his husband will oblige him. 

They board first class, and while Terrence does a magnificent job of hiding his trauma around strangers, Jim can see it hanging around his shoulders.

Sees it in the way he picks the window seat, to have Jim on the outside. He doesn't mind. He went to the extra step of carrying his badge and weapons. Anything his husband needs to feel safe. 

When the host comes by to take their orders, Terrence glances up, his locks shifting over an eye. "I'll have a mimosa," he says, his rich voice smooth and easy. 

"Whiskey, for me," Jim adds. The host nods with a pleasant smile and carries on to the next pair of seats. He reaches for Terrence's hand, pulling it gently into his own. His gold band stands at a warm contrast to his husband's skin, and he leans down to press a light kiss to his knuckles. "Two weeks, no working," he says, glancing up at him. 

"Will you be able to manage that?" Terrence asks, amused. 

"I left a note telling the citizens of Prague that they'd better behave," Jim answers wryly. 

"Ah, so you gave Agent Macready extra work," he says. 

"He can handle it." 

"Mm, but can you?" He asks, reaching a hand up to cup Jim's cheek, his thumb stroking under his eye. 

"Guess we'll have to see." He grins, slow. "We can always make a game of it."

"The stakes?" Terrence asks, his hand drifting down to settle over his arm. 

"You packed the leather?"

"Of course."

"Then I think you know what the stakes are." 

Terrence smirks, sly, and Jim is struck by just how beautiful that expression is on him. He can already tell that this was worth it. That carving the time out to take care of his husband will help. 

\---

When they land in Fiji, there's a man in an exquisitely tailored suit waiting by the baggage claim, their bags already standing by him, collected and just waiting for their owners. The placard in his hands says "Miller & Miller" embossed in black, curly font. Terrence imagines there's a car of similar feel outside, parked in a no parking zone and facing no repercussions for it. 

He walks hand in hand with Jim, an easy pace. There's no cameras around - not the paprazzi kind, anyway. Sunglasses and a wide hat weren't often enough to disguise him. He hopes they made it out of Europe without anyone noticing, but somehow he doubts it. 

The man nods at them, asks a soft, measured, "Mr.'s Miller?" And when they nod, he takes their suitcases and leads the way to their car. 

Terrence was right. It's a sleek black car with a profile too low to be an SUV but too high to be considered 'compact'. And it sits firmly in a red zone. The man hurries forward, appearing to barely speed up, and sets their suitcases carefully in the back before opening the back doors for them. Jim, ever the gentleman, keeps a hand at the small of his back as he climbs in. 

He would be lying if he didnt admit that, for a moment, in the breath between the door shutting and Jim appearing on the other side, he expects a gun to appear in the driver's hand, the door to be wrenched open and a bag thrown over his head- 

But then Jim is there, stepping into the car and sitting by him, and…well, the thought is a little slow to pass, but it does. 

Jim seems to notice, anyway. Setting a hand on his, gentle with his fingers. Terrence took off the splints, so that he wouldn’t draw any extra attention to himself and risk being noticed at the airport. He’ll try to avoid putting them back on, but he has the inkling that his husband won’t allow that. 

The drive from the airport is long - first along empty twisting highways, and then onto smaller roads, and then onto dirt that he’s fairly certain isn’t really mapped. The car stops where the road should continue, beside a large boulder which looks- ah. Terrence sees the seam. Truly, this place was appearing to live up to the expectations of privacy. An access light on the dashboard flashes green, and the rock splits, opening to let the car through. He glances around as they drive in and sees that it is in fact the boulder mounted to mechanized doors. He’s torn between feeling better about the extreme precautions and wary. He’s not alone, though.

And Jim won’t let anything get between them again. Hell, neither will he. 

The tunnel stretches for some hundreds of feet, and then deposits them on the gleaming coast, nestled in a bay surrounded by verdant cliffs sheltering the beach. The sky is a crisp blue, and it’s beautiful. 

“How did you find this place, love?” Terrence asks idly, looking out the window. 

“Can’t go giving up all my secrets, now can I?” Jim answers, a crooked smile.

“I have ways of finding out,” Terrence threatens.

“Like I said. I’ve been planning something like this for years.”

“In the way children plan their dream destination weddings?” It’s only a little teasing.

“Hey, it happened, didn’t it?”

“Yes, yes, after how many years?” 

“Too many,” Jim answers, thumb stroking over the back of his hand.

Terrence’s expression softens, and he just smile back at him. “Both our faults, really. Let’s endeavor to not let it happen again.” 

“Vacation a year?” Jim asks, as the car swings around an outlook, showing the first glimpse of the resort below. 

“Don’t make any promises you can’t keep,” Terrence warns, though he’s smiling. It’s small, with a few buildings on the water, others nestled in the lush hillside, just above the beach.

“No intention of breaking it,” Jim answers. “I’ve maxed out on vacation hours, not that the work ever cares,” he says. 

“Your ulterior motives are revealing themselves,” Terrence chides, warm and amused. 

“Yes, my ulterior motives to spend time with my husband in beautiful places,” Jim answers drily. 

Terrence laughs, and the car slows, the driver pausing to show credentials to…what looks like an armed guard at the front entrance. He wonders how much of that is for show, if it is meant to scare away nosy reporters. Or if there’s a bite behind that armor, the gun strapped to the man’s back. 

They are allowed through, and that’s the last overt sign of armed security that Terrence sees, though he catches Jim’s gaze slowing on a few things as they pass. He imagines there’s more systems that he simply isn’t accustomed to noticing. He makes a note to get better at that on their return. Or he can practice here, if they somehow get bored. He doubts they will. 

The car stops in front of a large building of glass, only the frame in the corners and the roof is a dark wood, and two attendants hurry out to get the door and unload their luggage. The amount of staff milling around is exactly as many as are needed for Jim and Terrence’s arrival - no more, no less. Discreet and attentive. Terrence remembers reading the document Jim sent him about this place, how they pride themselves on client privacy above all. Every employee goes through a strict background check, works at other locations until they’re proven to not be affiliated with the press or anyone else, and the consequences of breaking this ode of conduct are, allegedly, dire - short, perhaps, of death. But certainly blackballing from hotel industries the world over, and refusal of service in those same places. 

In essence, it should be perfect for him. An escape from the world that no one will come crashing through. Terrence almost hopes there won’t be any cell service, but these days that situation seems to be more a myth than possible, even in the remote corners of the world. 

One staff member approaches them with a tray in hand, two Piña coladas poised on it, offering it to them. Terrence takes them both, though he grips mostly with his middle fingers, and offers one to Jim. 

“Would you like to be shown to your room now, or would you prefer we take your luggage there while you relax here a while?” The man asks, his English close to unaccented. 

Terrence glances at Jim, who nods at him, leaving it up to him, and he says, “Show us. I’d like to get off my feet.” And into bed. Or a lounger on the beach. Or by the pool. The possibilities are limitless, and he’s going to make the most of every moment.

The staff member bows his head in a nod, and gestures to an awaiting golf cart, driver waiting. 

Jim does what always makes a curl of warmth settle in Terrence’s chest, placing a hand at his back and walking with him to the cart. It’s reassurance, protectiveness, and, often, a hint of possessiveness. Terrence loves it all. 

The ride to their room is short - it’s one of the buildings resting in the bay, on stilts, with a boardwalk leading up to it. It’s just too narrow for the cart, and Terrence doesn’t know when, but the other staff somehow beat them, their suitcases already standing by the door. 

Terrence smiles, tipping his head in thanks at the staff member, and steps off the cart, holding his hand out for Jim’s. There’s a comfort there, that he keeps seeking out. Wants to know he’s there. That his hand is held warm and close, instead of being shackled down and mangled. 

Jim doesn’t seem to mind. 

He hears the electric golf cart whirr as it pulls away, and they’re left…alone. If there’s anyone else at this resort, it doesn’t feel like it. He appreciates that. They walk across the creaking boardwalk, the smell of salt in the air and the sound of the quiet waves lapping at the shore making him want very much to be out of his slacks and sweater. He speeds up a little, tugging Jim for their villa, reaching for the door and gingerly opening it. 

The bedroom faces the ocean, a big glass wall open to the water, with a sheltered balcony just before it. Terrence knows they’ll spend plenty of good time here. And out there. And, just about anywhere they won’t be noticed. 

“What would you like to do first?” he asks, taking Jim’s drink so he can get the suitcases. His hands might be able to lightly grip glasses and utensils, but certainly not heavy luggage. 

“Think we should see the beach,” he answers, setting both bags down and unzipping them. 

“Find somewhere to lounge and forget we just spent ten hours on a plane?” Terrence elaborates, putting both drinks down and reaching for his clothes. 

“Exactly. Maybe get drunk while we’re at it,” he adds, with a smirk.

“You do always have the best ideas.”

The nice thing, Terrence decides, about being on vacation, is that he can wear whatever the fuck he likes. When Terrence gets dressed for the beach, he doesn’t wear some chic, stuffy outfit. He wears a tropical orange shirt, egregiously bright trunks, and a big sunhat. 

Jim seems to approve, if that look in his eyes says anything. Terrence could say the same for him - he’s in a tank that shows off his toned shoulders, and shorts a little darker than his own. He’s looking forward to seeing his husband out of his usual suits and in something more fun. 

Something he’d kill his agents if they ever saw. Terrence grins, at that.

“I can hear you creating blackmail,” Jim says over his shoulder, pulling out his flipflops and stepping into them. 

“Preposterous,” Terrence says airily. “As if I’d ever share this with anyone.” 

Jim laughs, offers his arm, and they walk out together. 

\----

**Author's Note:**

> <3 I hope you enjoyed! I almost said 'me, writing pure unadulterated fluff??' but this just starts in right after the hurt part is all, haha...
> 
> Art by the wonderful [pidoodle](https://pidoodle.tumblr.com), who I don't deserve


End file.
